


don't leave tonight, stay

by zenturies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Break Up, Dirty Talk, M/M, Photographer Zayn, Praise Kink, Sad Zayn, Smut, Top!Liam, Writer Liam, bottom!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenturies/pseuds/zenturies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's always been the one that held the gun, but Zayn had pulled the trigger.</p><p>Or, the one in which they ended. Then they begin again. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't leave tonight, stay

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for writing this and I hate how it turned out, but I needed to get my stresses out somehow 'cause Mondays are irritating, Tuesdays suck, and Wednesdays are bland. Zayn's M.O.M henna sparked the inspiration for this— I don't know how.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> P.S Title taken from Stay by Hurts. Also, I toned the detail down a lot in this one.
> 
> P.S.S I wrote some of this on my phone. Did my best to pick out the mistakes autocorrect blessed me with and all that jazz. But if you still find the odd mistake, I apologise.

They ended on a stormy night in twenty fifteen.

 

When the wind painted their cheeks bitter cold and the dark sky was a typhoon of white stars and a grey moon, matching their hearts as they stepped away in the middle of the street, snapping the invisible string that'd been keeping them connected. Their hearts broke into a million fragments, and even though they wanted to, even though their souls screamed desperately for each other, they went their separate ways. 

 

This is how they begin again in twenty sixteen—

 

The wind shreds around him, startling the rain in a different direction entirely. Freezing droplets drift over the visible skin of his cheeks, clings onto his thick eyelashes and his drips down head. Except, there's no hair for the water to clutch onto. Not this time around. Won't be for a while. It takes at least four to six months for his hair to grow back long enough so that he can run his fingers through it in a fit of annoyance.

He'd wanted a change, a new start. Something that wouldn't remind him of _him_  and something that would make passers by question his life choices.

( He'd been questioning his own too much. )

So, he got a tattoo on the side of his head and shaved off all his hair. He washed away the memories with alcoholic substances that stung more than the feeling of loneliness, edged every little fiber of a thought about  _him_  that gathered in his mind into the ink that was later embedded onto his temple and became someone who he thought he'd never be.

He doesn't know why he's stood outside the home he once called his own. Mostly because he'd spent the majority of his time secured behind the door in front of him rather than the door of his own flat, happily fastened behind four brick walls that made him feel safe, and the familiar scent of pomegranate and raspberry putting his mind at ease.

There are too many memories here. Ones he wishes he could forget. Ones he doesn't want to forget. It's a vortex of their first kiss, their first argument, their first time. It's full of unimaginable beginnings and devastating endings. There's no middle, no aching consistency of a bond gone wrong and knife to the heart. It just— _happened_.

He hadn't even realised he'd brought his hand up to the door to knock on it, knuckles pellucid white from the rain and the cold, until it was too late. The door cracks open a smidge, just barely enough to let the wind float into the warmth of the home he could find his way around with a blindfold on. 

He's there, stood in front of him in the red and black plaid shirt he'd received as an early birthday gift and jeans that are ripped below the knees. He's sporting frayed black boots, scuffed at the toes like he's been playing too much football on treacherous muddy fields. He's had a haircut too, chopped off the straggly strands that were growing too long.

His eyes are browner than ever, alive with a million thoughts and a superstorm of unsaid questions.

Suddenly, all the air he had flowing in his lungs, has been knocked out of him, replaced with some kind of sorrowful nostalgia that he's spent the past two months ignoring, too fucked up on marijuana and the remaining liquid of the whisky bottle.

"Liam," Zayn greets breathlessly, shoving his hands into the pocket of his trench coat. He doesn't know where to look, can't quite jerk his eyes away from the man who meant the most.

( The man who still means the most. )

"Zayn," Liam speaks slowly, like he's trying to piece together the scattered facts of why his bloody ex boyfriend standing in front of him. 

"Hi," Zayn says, dumbly. He doesn't want to be here, not anymore because he feels like he could choke on the lump in his throat with the vivid memory of watching his relationship go up in a hurricane of flames, angry orange and alarmingly vibrant in the front of his mind. 

He figures being here beats swimming in a sea of dangerous thoughts. Or, maybe it's the anticipation from the rum he'd consumed three hours prior.

"Hey." Liam draws out his voice, the corners of his temples crinkling when he opens the door further. "What're you doin' here?"

"I lost my keys." Zayn lies, chews on his lower lip, watermelon coloured and damp from the rain. "Your place was the closest." 

"You wanna come in?" Liam suggests after a beat and Zayn vows he sees a little something that favours hope flash across the features of his face.

"Please," He says, voice quiet. He doesn't trust himself around Liam, doesn't quite trust Liam around himself anymore either.

It's been months, but Zayn enters Liam's home and his life once again. He leaves the negative thoughts outside, locked in a cage because the blazing heat from the fire tickles his skin and fuels his mind into relaxation mode. Certainty not a calming sense of familiarity. No.

"I see this place hasn't changed much," Zayn comments when he hears the sound of the door clicking shut, sealing them in their own sultry paradise.

"Yeah." Liam agrees, russet hues roaming over their surroundings. "It's home. Couldn't change it, even if I wanted to."

 _You used to be my home_. Zayn thinks.

Instead, he asks, "Can I stay here until the weather chills out?"

"'Course. I was just about to have a cuppa. You want one?" Liam offers, wrinkling his nose as his eyes budge over Zayn, drinking him in.

( Zayn wonders what he's thinking, what he's feeling. He wonders if he's happy, if he's sad, if he's driving along the border of somewhere in between. )

"Yeah. Need to warm up a bit," Zayn laughs, timid under Liam's gaze.

"You want a towel to dry off?" Liam proposes, leaning down to untie his boots. "Borrow some of my clothes? I'll put yours on the heater."

Zayn shakes his head. "Nah, man, I'll be fine." He can't wear Liam's clothes. He can't go home smelling like him because it'll only prompt the feelings he's been avoiding. 

The smile that latches onto Liam's lips mimics disbelief and Zayn waits for him to protest, waits for him to rush off to his room and retrieve whatever clothes he can locate on such short notice before shoving them in Zayn's arms and sending him off to the bathroom to change. Alternatively, Liam wanders into the kitchen after he rids himself of the boots Zayn had displayed on his own two feet, precisely four and a half months ago. Zayn watches him as he goes.

( He wonders if that's how Liam looked leaving him on the night their lives fractured. He wouldn't know. He didn't turn back. Did Liam turn back? )

Zayn doesn't know if he should follow, but he does, anyway. It'd be rude not to, right?

"I see you've cut your hair," Liam says just after he's finished boiling the kettle, fetching the semi-skimmed milk from the fridge.

"You like it?" Zayn inquires, leaning against the marble counter. He's got his head tipped forward, an eyebrow raised, daring Liam to say something otherwise.

"It's cool." Liam admits, rotates his head to the side to their gazes intertwine. "Matches mine a bit, don't you think?"

_That's why I got it. Saw a picture of you on Instagram._

Zayn's shoulders slouch and his heart flips in his chest. "Maybe if you cut yours a bit shorter. Does it matter if we're matching?"

There's an uncomfortable blanket of silence that wings through the air in the midst of Liam pouring the scorching water into the cups.

"No, not at all," Liam mumbles after a beat too long.

Zayn's tongue swipes across his lips, hand reaching into the confined pocket of his skinnies to fish out the overpriced cigs he'd bought from Tesco's. He lowers his head, tweaks the lighter, ignites the cancer stick as Liam finishes off making the tea— a beverage he hasn't had the satisfaction of drinking in forever because Niall makes it too light and Harry makes it too strong and he can never get it completely right himself.

"What does your tattoo stand for?" Liam questions, stirring the liquid around with a silver spoon.

( Zayn remembers when the colour matched his hair and Liam watched him dye it with the kind of fascination a five year old exhibits the night before Christmas. )

"On my temple?" Zayn turns his head, inhaling the cig trapped between his fingers, nudging the lighter back into his pocket.

Liam says nothing, simply nods. He maneuvers the mugs onto the counter in front of Zayn once he's concluded the perfect routine of making tea. He doesn't watch as Zayn exhales the some from his lungs and that _hurts_ , penetrates the kind of desperation Zayn wasn't even aware he had.

"Wanted to display my thoughts somehow." Zayn's fingers curl around the handle of the porcelain mug, brings it to his lips before he elaborates. "Realised I couldn't fit all my thoughts into my body or a blank canvas so I shortened it to Mind Of Mine— M.O.M."

"You're gonna regret it one day," Liam tells him, blows at the steam radiating from his cup. Zayn forces himself to train his gaze on the slope of Liam's nose, rather than the circular motion of his lips.

"When I'm old and grey, maybe," Zayn shrugs carelessly, takes a small sip; he never knew tea could taste so euphoric.

"I think looks sick, though," Liam throws him a genuine smile.

Zayn laughs, setting aside the cup of tea to focus on the cig between his fingers. Inhale, exhale. "People look at me like I'm crazy."

"Everyone's a little bit crazy in this day and age." Liam blinks, glancing over the shoulders of Zayn's coat. "And besides, there's nothin' wrong with portraying who you are through art on your body."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you have a whole bunch of tattoos. I remember when your arms were bare and you threw a tantrum whenever I mentioned getting similar ones," Zayn rolls his eyes, though his face is illuminated with enchantment.

He's always enchanted when it comes to Liam.

"I didn't throw a tantrum." Liam disagrees, perching his mug next to Zayn's. His face is screwed up in wariness, pearly whites playing with his lower lip. "I was simply standing up for my body 'cause I didn't want a stranger comin' anywhere near it with a needle."

"And look you now— covered in ink," Zayn points out, gesturing towards where he knows ink is engraved into Liam's arms without even looking.

"You're the one who dragged me to that tattoo shop in Brighton on my eighteenth, wasted on—"

"Cider," Zayn finishes, snapping him short of his sentence.

"Yeah, cider," Liam chuckles lightly, coughs some and swallows the frog in his throat with a sip of his drink.

They'd traveled to Brighton in hopes of challenging themselves to see who could hold the most liquor, no matter how bitter, how sharp, how much the liquid bubbled at the backs of their throats. Liam had managed three and a half bottles of cider from the corner shop and Zayn had stuck to WKD because he actually wanted to remember the night his boyfriend got inked.

"Should've let me tattoo you, Li." Zayn says before he even thinks about the words oozing from his mouth. That's the thing with him— he was good at thinking, usually, but when he's around Liam, when he's blessed enough to have Liam standing in front of him, his mind turns to mush. "I would've been gentle."

Liam snorts, the palm of his hand orbiting along the scruff tinting his jaw. "You would've fucked it up."

"You wouldn't have minded," Zayn grins, teeth between his teeth and for a moment, for a second, it's like they never ended.

"I didn't mind a lot of things, did I?" Liam cackles. Zayn wishes he could hear Liam's thoughts.

"You want a smoke?" Zayn quizzes. He inhales, lets the smoke make a bed in his lungs, then exhales.

( A process he's repeating on a daily basis. )

"Nah, tryin' to quit, actually," Liam announces, a cotton candy blush unfurling over the valley of his cheeks.

Out of all the things Zayn could normally predict about Liam, this wasn't one of them.

"C'mon, one last smoke won't hurt," Zayn smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Liam glares at him and Zayn can see the way his eyes zero in, zoom in when he inhales.

This time, Zayn allows his the smoke to linger, cleanse the way his heart twinges. Liam looks away when he exhales, grits down on his teeth.

"For old times sake?" Zayn pries, exchanging a glance between the cigarette in his hand to Liam, holding it out to him.

Liam can't fight the smile forming on his lips as he takes the fag between the fingers Zayn misses slotting into his own. "For old times sake."

Zayn grins wickedly, watching Liam take a long, long drag.

( Liam looks like he's missed the taste of nicotine. Just like the way Zayn misses the taste of him. )

"You're a bad influence on me, Malik," Liam grumbles afterwards, little puffs of smoke chasing his words.

"I've been a bad influence on you since the moment we met, Payno," Zayn retorts, thumps the back of his boot-clad feet against the cupboard.

"I should've known better," Liam tuts, finishing off the remainder of the cigarette before lobbing it into the sink, twisting the faucet and watches it die.

"You liked bad boys back in the day, didn't ya?" Zayn jokes, sticking his tongue out.

Liam huffs out a laugh, amused, as he shuts off the faucet. "Wouldn't exactly call you a bad boy, mate." 

Zayn ignores his words. "You liked me the most, though."

"Well—"

"Sorry. Am I makin' this awkward?" Zayn questions, runs a hand over his head. "Shit, I _am_ makin' this awkward, aren't I?"

"It's only awkward if you make it awkward," Liam smiles sweetly, playing with the cuff of his shirt. 

"It's just, like, there's nothin' to talk about," Zayn mutters. Conversation has never been his strong point and it never will be, not even around Liam.

"There's plenty to talk about," Liam says, bumping his hip with Zayn's.

"What do you wanna talk about?" Zayn asks, ducking his head to hide the smile that's taunting his mouth.

"You, Zayn, I wanna talk about you," Liam states, blinking up at him.

( Zayn wants to hug him tight, never let him go. But he also he doesn't want to get burned by the same flame twice. )

"What about me?" He forces himself to calm down, puts a pause on the beating of his heart so he can take a single look at Liam without wanting to combust.

"How've you been?" Liam ponders.

 _Miserable_.

"I've been alright." Zayn glances at the floor, hesitating if he should tell Liam the most exciting news of it. His heart chooses for him. "Got into uni— on that photography course I was ramblin' on about a couple of months back."

The proudness that lurks over Liam's features makes Zayn's heart swell three times the size of its original state. "I'm proud of ya, lad. Always told you that you'd get in, didn't I?"

"Yeah, Liam, you did," Zayn's lips swivel into a smile, sad to look at, soft to touch.

"Should believe me more often," Liam grunts, tapping the ends of his fingers on the marble.

It echoes, rings loud in Zayn's ears. He's always been hypersensitive to anything Liam does, including the sounds he makes.

"It's not that I didn't believe you, I just didn't believe in myself at the time," Zayn admits through gritted teeth, trimmed nails digging moon-shaped crescents into the palms of his hands.

" _I_ believed in you— wasn't that enough?" Liam interrogates, head cocked to the side like he's trying to figure Zayn out.

Zayn freezes, locks eyes with Liam. "It was always enough. Why do you think I applied in the first place?"

Puzzlement expands over Liam's face, head straightening up, bushy brows furrowing together.

"I applied 'cause _you're_ the one who told me to go for it." Zayn confesses. "I applied 'cause _you're_ the one who inspired me to."

"I inspired you?"

Zayn nods. "You still do."

Liam looks like he's glowing.

"You gonna tell me how you've been?" It's Zayn's turn to interrogate him, catapult anything that pops into his brain.

"I've been decent. Workin' on a new book. Still slaving away at Harry's café. Not much has changed," Liam shrugs with one shoulder, jaw tensing.

"You still gettin' high?" Zayn asks, tongue showing to skate across his lower lip, the intense urge of wanting to lick over Liam's jaw, bite on his earlobe, it's there and it's submerging him in the thoughts he thought he'd launched into the trashcan the second they cracked beneath the surface.

"When it's just not my day, yes," Liam reveals.

Moments pass, a beat, comfortable silence. And then—

"I blaze up whenever I think about callin' you, y'know?" Zayn discloses, twisting his body towards Liam. "Like, I can't help it. I guess I do it to numb the pain, make it hurt less."

"Make what hurt less?"

"You know what, Liam," Zayn lightly growls, a foolish grimace stumbling over his lips.

Liam's silent and if Zayn look down, he'd see the curling of Liam's toes concealed by the fabric of his socks— something he does when he's nervous, battling off profound desires.

"What's your new book about?" Zayn asks abruptly, curiosity killing the cat.

"Uh— it's about a dog and his owner who move to a new town for a fresh start. Haven't figured out the rest, but it'll come to me, I'm sure of it," Liam babbles, smoothing a forced grin across his lips.

"Yeah." Zayn agrees, eyes lit with mischief. "You've got your wicked ways with words."

"Thank you?" Liam cocks his head, skeptical.

"Your grammar's still horrible though," There's a hint of sarcasm in Zayn's tone and he's positive that if Liam looked close enough, he'd spot the sarcasm shimming across his features.

"C'mon now." Liam laughs. "My grammar's gotten better. You still follow me on Twitter. You've seen my— "

"You checked to see if I still follow you on Twitter?" Zayn interjects, holding a breath.

A rose red blush vapours across Liam's cheeks. He doesn't respond, but honestly, he doesn't need to. It's written all over his face.

Zayn smirks, crooked and noticeable from countries away. "What 'bout Facebook? Have you checked to see if I've unfriended you?"

"Shut up, Zayn," Liam mutters, the blush that's blemishing his cheeks elongates down his neck.

"How 'bout you make me shut up, Payno?" Zayn dabs his tongue over the pavement of his bottom lip as their eyes meet and his own cheeks flame humidity.

Liam gulps, Adam's apple bobbing, fingers tremoring from where they're pinching the marble countertop. If Zayn didn't know any better, he'd think Liam was trying to refrain, restrain himself from leaping forward, time-traveling back into the past.

"Thought so." Zayn sighs. "Anyway, thanks for lettin' me stay 'ere, man. I appreciate it. The weather's fuckin' crazy. I was freezin' my arse off out th—"

Zayn doesn't get the advantage of concluding his sentence because Liam's surging forward without an alarm blaring over city skies like Big Ben. The only warning Liam delivers, is the puckering of his ruddy chapped lips and the heftiness of fingertips on Zayn's dainty hips and then their lips fall into perfect harmony, a melody only they can understand, and it's like everything bad in the world makes sense because Liam is Zayn's resolution. The cure that fixes everything.

Zayn can fucking taste the heartache on Liam's tongue. It tangs like vodka, dances like nicotine circuiting through innocent veins, and grapples with the eagerness, vigorous and vicious. He cherishes it, licks upwards until he's mapping the roof of Liam's mouth with his own tongue, until their teeth clink together and their lips mold, creating a whole new whirlpool of impulses.

His mind clouds, fogs with thoughts he didn't have the willpower of conjuring before their lips met. His hand scuffles with Liam's plaid shirt, thin fingers holding onto the fabric for dear life.

( Zayn's had a strange, electrifying gnawing feeling in his stomach for days. Maybe it was fate, shouting at him to reunite with Liam after all this time. After everything he's been through. )

( There's no such thing as fate. Zayn refuses to believe in such a preposterous theory. )

Reality jerks him back by the neck, his lips breaking from Liam's, apologetic words on the edge of his tongue, "Li—"

"I still love you." Liam blurts, palms smoothing over the shoulders of Zayn's trench coat. "I need you to know that I'll always love you."

"Liam—"

"I didn't mean to leave you, Zayn." Liam interrupts, forcing the material backwards. "I didn't want to leave you. I didn't expect you to wanna talk to me again so that's why I didn't call or text or fight— 'cause you walked away too."

Zayn lowers his head, lets his coat sag at his biceps. He's petrified because he's just been given a taste of what he had. He didn't come here to make up. He didn't come here for his heart to spit broken beats at Liam's words. He didn't come here to love Liam again.

Or, maybe he did.

"We need to talk about this," Liam whispers, quiet, like he's afraid of scaring Zayn away.

"You know talking's not my style, babe," Zayn hoists his head up in time to see Liam's lips quirk into the infamous smile he yearns to see when he wakes up in the middle of the night, sleepy-eyed and wishing for five more minutes.

Realisation jabs at the pit of Zayn's stomach— Liam's the 3AM miracle Zayn's been missing. The antidote for gruesome nightmares, happiness, joy and everything wedged in between.

Liam smirks, takes a step back, "Then how about you show me how much you've missed me?"

"Yeah?" Zayn's brows shoot up, his fingers loose on Liam's shirt.

"Fuck, yeah." 

 

It's a rough and tumble and certainly a struggle, but they locate Liam's bedroom with wandering hands and Zayn's lips locked against the flesh of Liam's neck, his tongue soothing over the sangria blemish he created with his teeth. His trench coat departed from his shoulders and his boots have been toed off somewhere between the kitchen and the hallway and the buttons of Liam's shirt are no longer bolted through the holes.

Liam doesn't budge from the close proximity when Zayn's trembling fingers pluck at the buckle of his belt, the shakiness of his warm breath grafting from his mouth, grazing over Zayn's lips when he dips his head for a fantastic kiss. Sloppy and sugary. Keen and a kaleidoscope of chaos. 

"Zayn— Zayn," Liam murmurs microseconds after he recoils, voice wavering like it did during their first time.

( Mullered on each other, plastered on the idea of getting eloped in Los Angeles one day. )

Zayn calms the shakiness of his hand, sliding his palm over Liam's dick. "What do you want, baby?"

Liam's lips anchor into a straight line, hips pressing forward, hopelessly ardent. "You. I want you." 

Zayn smirks, greedy eyes hovering over the stubble jogging along Liam's jaw. His fingers twine around the swelling of Liam's cock, thick and already so heavy, enclosed in the material of his jeans. 

Liam gasps, his hands leveling over the curving of Zayn's ass, fingers squeezing. "It's been months and you're still a fuckin' tease."

Zayn shrugs with his left shoulder, escorting Liam towards the bed he's all too keen testing out again. He's forgotten what the silky sheets feel like nuzzling against his skin, forgotten the scent lodged into the fabric of the pillow. Liam's scent— beautiful, musky, and the fragrance of some majestic smelling cologne that Zayn can't remember the name of for the life of him immersed into the pillows.

They don't fall back against the blankets, the comfortable mattress that grips a chain of filthily memories and a string of confidential pillow talk sessions, sweet words and promising gazes. Liam's hands impel Zayn's hips forward, closer, his lips coasting over Zayn's jaw.

"I want you to ride me." Liam whispers like it's a dirty little secret. _Their_ dirty little secret. "I want you to be as loud as you'd like 'cause it's been too long since I've been inside of you, been so long since I've fucked you, been so long since I've heard you moan—"

Zayn silences him with a kiss, his hands ambling over the roller coaster dip of his abs, pinches his nipple that convinces a gasp to utter from low in Liam's throat. Their knees bang together when Liam staggers backwards, lets himself collapse onto the bed, ushers Zayn with him when their lips divide. 

( Lips like ecstasy, coloured florescent pink and savagely addicting. Mind supplied with voluptuous thoughts, sensual and seductive. )

"Missed your cock, babe," Zayn murmurs, his forehead resting against Liam's. His legs bracket's the bloke he fell in love with at the age of sixteen, straddling his waist, his arms clasping around his neck. 

"Have you stroked off thinkin' about me?" Liam inquires as he scoots backwards, his broad back leaning against the headboard.

"Yeah. All the time." Zayn divulges, shivering when Liam's hands roll over his lower back, fingers then tugging on the unwrinkled fabric. "Always come so fuckin' hard when I think about you."

"What do you think about?" Liam probes, voice steeping deeper. 

Zayn rids himself off his shirt with Liam's help, teeth raking over his bottom lip. "Everything we did together. Remember that one time you handcuffed me to the bed?"

Liam nods, perfect bubblegum coloured tongue slithering between his lips, licking them wet.

"Made me come over and _over_." Zayn mumbles, hands creeping underneath the plaid shirt stuck to Liam's frame, crescent shaped nails hurtling over Liam's shoulders. "Fucked me until _your_ legs burned and _you_ couldn't hold back anymore. Could still feel you for weeks after that."

"Knew things weren't good between us— I was fuckin' you goodbye," Liam declares, slanting into the touch of Zayn's fingers prowling across his skin.

Zayn snorts a swift," _Idiot_ ," followed by, "This is the beginning of a new chapter."

Liam grins, his own fingers lugging at the circular button of Zayn's jeans. Smugness pirouettes across his features, the rope standing in front of cockiness and confidence slowly splitting in two.

"Sometimes, I get me fingers nice 'nd wet with your favourite lube. Fuck myself into a proper frenzy." Zayn purrs, grinds his hips forward and the angle isn't quite right. It makes him whine, Liam's fingers caressing his back, pressing their bodies flush against each other.  "Sometimes I pretend it's you."

"Sometimes?" Liam tilts his head to the side, brow raising.

 Zayn nods. "Other times, I pretend it's—"

" _Zayn_ ," Liam warns, head pitching forward. There's a delay in the threatening stare Liam shoots his way, but Zayn sees the jealousy scurry across his eyes.

Zayn hums, leans back a little, a dopey smirk twisting at his lips. "Alright, alright. Want me to put on a show for you?"

Liam drags his fingers along the waistband of Zayn's jeans, flicks a knowing gaze between their bodies before planting his hand on Zayn's stomach to push him further away, nodding.

"Lay back and relax, baby. Gonna take care of you, alright?"

Liam's head sinks against the headboard, lazy hands reclined on his stomach.

Zayn recovers the lube from where he knows Liam keeps their collection of diverse flavourings of lube, contained in tiny plastic bottles that should really, definitely come in bigger sizes. 

"Think we need some music?" Zayn questions, fingers twitching around the bottle. Below the scratchy fabric of his jeans, his cock twitches at the mere thought of what he's about to do. How he's about to show off. Show Liam what he's been missing all this time. 

"My phone's over there." Liam announces and Zayn strolls towards the device within seconds. "I still have our sex playlist—"

Earned It by The Weeknd floods the room in brash beats, the lyrics already piling up in Zayn's mind. He moves back to Liam, slinging the lube somewhere on the bed as he clambers on top of him, hands back on his shoulders and hips in coordination with Liam's.

"Too many clothes, take 'em off—" Liam complains, but the words flatline on his tongue when Zayn grinds his hips downwards, their clothed cocks rubbing over each other, generating the type of delicious friction Zayn's missed.

( In the back of his head, Zayn wonders if he's a whisper in Liam's thoughts when he's tucked in bed at night, with the covers around his waist and his thoughts in a dirty place. )

"Remember that time I came like this? And you weren't even _touchin_ ' me?" Zayn recalls, keeps his hips moving, grinding against Liam. His fingers wrap around the back of Liam's neck, his left hand spiraling over Liam's broad chest when the speakers of Liam's phone pump out—

" _You make it look like it's magic_."

"Yeah." Liam moans, lifts his hips upwards. "I remember it all, Zayn."

The slow, composed rocking motion of his hips is enough to lure a breathless moan from his own lips, Liam's thumbs shoveling into Zayn's waist, lips cracked open. Mahogany red splatters across Liam's cheeks, a bead of sweat puddling in the midst of his forehead.

"This time's different 'cause there's no hair to pull on," Liam frowns, but Zayn's rapid to kiss it away.

"You still have my body to touch," Zayn assures, their noses skimming.

"Love your little body," Liam remarks and when Zayn looks up, Liam's got the type of determined look painted across his face that sends a tornado of frosty chills down Zayn's spine.

"S'not exactly the definition of little anymore," Zayn mumbles, cheeks flaring cherry red.

"Yes it is." Liam argues and Zayn's head wrinkles from disapproval but when he presses his hips down tenderly, grinds his waist in a circular motion to the beat of the song engulfing the walls of the room, Liam's groaning, a hint of pleasure sparking his on his face."Fuck, keep doin' that, babe, just like, shift your hips forward— yeah. Good boy."

Zayn gulps, his hips coming to an abrupt standstill. His skin's ablaze, heating up even more at those two specific words registering in his mind. His brain's functioning on nothing but the thoughts of _Liam_ and how hard _they_ are, how much Liam's probably leaking and—

"Can you, like, call me that again?"

His cheeks power hot, body humid at the words that rush past his lips.

"Call you what? Babe?" Liam asks, hands skipping across Zayn's thighs.

Zayn shakes his head, tugs his lower lip between his teeth before he breaks them to speak, "Whenever I do somethin' good, somethin' ya like, can you tell me that I'm a—"

Liam cuts him off, shock nibbling at his face. "A good boy?"

Zayn nods and he decides that it's better to be kissed with _those_ words skidding between the gap of Liam's lips than stabbed in the heart with hesitant hands, a blunt knife.

"You got a bit of a praise kink, Malik?" Liam teases. There's love loitering, lurking in Liam's tone, in Liam's voice, in Liam's eyes. It makes Zayn's heart stutter, his skin prickling with the type of elevated excitement he can't fathom.

"I don't— I just like it, alright?" Zayn groans, buries his face in Liam's neck, teeth nipping at the mark he created with soft lips.

He's not grinding anymore. He's just laying there, slotted flawlessly against Liam's body. There's something oddly intimate about the entire ordeal of how they could go from nothing to this— that proves to Zayn how strong their bond is, how their tears had stories of their own when they were minutes from ending, gasoline-like words spitting from their lips, hazy hearts, furious touches until a cyclone met a volcano and that was it. That was the end of them.

Or maybe, it wasn't. 

( All he knows is that Liam's touch, Liam's eyes— they awaken a glorious feeling he can't quite measure, frees him of heartbreak wounds and defeating thoughts. )

"Gonna open myself up for you now." Zayn tells Liam, reluctantly tearing himself away from the man with a thousand meanings to his heart. "You aren't allowed to touch though."

"Why not?" Liam rushes out, brown embers gleaming with objection.

"'Cause, I'm givin' you something to get off to whilst I'm away," Zayn answers like he isn't peeling the damp denim from his legs, throwing them into the corner of the room. 

"You're leaving in the morning?" Liam asks, voice cracking at the end.

Zayn smiles sadly, the crack in his heart widening because he doesn't know how to dignify Liam's question with a definite answer because maybe they're pretending to be in love for one more night.

Maybe, just maybe.

"I don't know, babe, but let's not focus on that, okay?" 

Liam's eyes shift into an emotion Zayn can't tolerate. He detests seeing Liam gloomy, low-spirited. Hates seeing him flip through the thoughts in his mind. The ones that Zayn can't read because Liam doesn't allow them to envelope his face. 

Zayn removes his boxers in silence and now he's squirting lube onto his fingers, making sure they _shine_ , coated generously because it's been a while. He positions himself so he's on all fours at the bottom of the bed, ass up in the air, legs spread slightly, a hand hovering between them. He isn't looking at Liam, can't empower himself to right now, but when his index finger meets his rim just as the song changes to Ride by SoMo, the breath that shudders from the other tells him that he's paying full attention to him. Good.

( Liam always pays attention to him. That makes Zayn's tummy feel fuzzy. )

"Haven't played with myself in ages," Zayn confesses absentmindedly, hole clenching as the pad of his finger threatens to push in, but then he runs the edge of his finger over his balls, lets out a gasp when he feels his cock twitch. His length's bobbing heavy between his legs, ruby red and leaking at the tip, dark at the head.

"When was the last time—"

"Three weeks ago," Zayn answers, somehow gathering the stamina not to wrap a hand around himself, get off in front of Liam like he's an amateur porn star, moaning into the sheets. 

"That's not ages," Liam tuts behind him.

"When was the last time you played with yourself?" Zayn wonders.

"Monday," Liam admits truthfully.

"Did you think about me?" Zayn questions, breath coming out in shallow pants as he pushes the tip of his index finger in, the squelching of overflowing lube making him _giggle_. 

The giggle doesn't last long though. It perishes in his throat from the intrusion, the burn, the overwhelming stretch, drowning him until he's biting on his inner arm to stifle the whimpers clambering over his vocal chords. 

"I think about you all the time," Liam whispers.

Those six words spur him on, nudging his finger in, right down to the knuckle, battering the oxygen from his lungs. His eyes close and he lets himself get lost in it. Lost in the pleasure of feeling, curving a finger into himself, moving his hand back and forth. It's rushed, hurried because he just wants purified of the ache around his rim.

( He may or may not be losing the patience, the arousing urge of fucking himself down onto Liam's cock intensifying. ) 

But suddenly, Liam's reaching over, skimming his palm down Zayn's left cheek, murmuring, "Take your time, baby, we've got all night."

Zayn moans into the crook of his arm, fucks a finger into himself faster because he isn't docile on the nights he doesn't want to be. He's got the upper hand here. He isn't going to let Liam steal that away from him. His hole eases up easier than what he thought it would, considering it's been a good few weeks since he's fucked himself on the crappy dildo Liam bought for him from that one sex shop in Manchester— when they began fooling around, experimenting with different toys, shy under each others gazes, but never for long.

"Fuck," tumbles from Zayn's lips, the fingers of his unoccupied hand curling in the blankets as he pushes back onto his finger. A single digit, already erecting a multitude of bliss haunting his bones, swooping right into the pit of his belly before racing towards his cock.

"Feel good?" Liam questions, husky. His voice is thick with arousal, deep with lust. It makes the blood in Zayn's veins simmer.

"Gettin' there," Zayn mumbles, words hunted by a moan when he bends his finger just right, skirting over the little bundle of nerves he hasn't had the delight of meeting in an extremely long time. 

"I could make you feel better," Liam tries to persuade, but Zayn brushes him off. Simply because he knows if he lets Liam anywhere near his hole, he'll be coming with Liam's head between his cheeks, tongue licking him out until he's a sobbing mess, hand in Liam's hair, rutting recklessly into the blankets.

Zayn uses the last of his energy to look back at Liam, a bold grin tugging at his lips, "I'm showin' you what you've been missing."

Liam swallows, clamps his lips shut after that.

"Oh, god," Zayn's been continuously stimulating his prostate, sending little bursts of arousal down his spine. He fists at the cotton sheets, rubs his forehead into the softness of them because he's got sweat cascading along the bridge of his head.

"Think you can fit another?" Liam suggests and Zayn nods, eager. Desperate.

He's careful when he inserts his middle finger into himself, breathes through the dull burn of the rim expanding around his fingers, and crooks them upwards.

Behind him, Liam moans and Zayn knows he's got the best seat in the house for witnessing Zayn's hole stretch around his fingers. 

"Fuck, _Li_ ," Zayn whines, fingers probing at his sweet spot once again, his mind darkening with unholy thoughts.

"Such a good boy." Liam praises. "You look bloody sinful right now."

Zayn grins at that, keeps working his fingers into himself until he hears the sound of a zipper and—

"No touchin' yourself," Zayn demands, raising his head to peer back at Liam.

"Why not? I need to touch myself, Zayn, like, you don't know how hard I am just from watchin' you, babe," Liam mewls, poking Zayn's calf with his foot. A noiseless reminder that he's there. He's watching. 

( That this isn't all in Zayn's head. An hallucination. A _dream_. )

"Grab a condom, babe— f-fuck," Zayn orders, squeezing around his fingers.

Liam nods, quickly scrambling to reach for his bedside table. Zayn hears him ruffle through it, a couple of objects falling to the floor because Liam's got this fucked up habit of suffocating his tables with junk. Things he doesn't need. Things he doesn't want. 

"What is it?" Zayn asks when he hears Liam's fussing come to a stop.

"I threw 'em away," Liam grumbles after a pause. He sounds regretful and truthfully, Zayn's fucking fuming.

"You _what_?" Zayn asks again, tries not to groan when his cock spurts precome on Liam's sheets.

"When we broke up, I didn't think I'd need them anymore 'cause I didn't wanna have sex with anyone else, so I threw them away," Liam speaks softly, closing the drawer at the side of their bed.

"You been with anyone else?" Zayn interrogates, moving to sit up, ignores the emptiness and the clenching of his hole. He knows he isn't as stretched as he should be, but, even he likes a little pain every once in a while.

Liam shakes his head. "Just you— I couldn't, babe."

Zayn crawls towards Liam, fingers still slippery from the amount of lube he'd doused them with. He peppers kisses along the column of Liam's neck, palm resting on top of Liam's cock. It's fucking _mental_ how hard he is and he finds himself briefly wondering if Liam's dripping— if the precome Zayn loves to play with is oozing out of the slit he loves to flick his tongue over in a pattern, a routine — _his_ routine of making Liam squirm. 

"Your cock belongs to me." Zayn says, looking directly in Liam's dark eyes as he slips his hand into the restraint of Liam's jeans and boxers, wrapping possessive nimble fingers around his cock. "It always has, always fuckin' will 'cause I'm the only one who can make you come with my pretty lips wrapped around the head. M'the only one who showed you how good I can be for you, right?"

Liam whines, pushes up into Zayn's hand, his eyes closed. He glances down, blinks them open, his breathing ragged and Zayn thinks Liam wishes he could see his long fingers curved around his shaft, not moving, stilled, like he's waiting for a trigger to make his heartbeat flicker and his cock twitch.

"You still have that cock ring?" Zayn asks, kissing the tip of Liam's nose, fingers fiddling with Liam's foreskin. He pulls it back, twists his fist, feels the precome dribbling from the slit.

Liam smiles through a breath, goofy, pressing a light kiss against Zayn's jaw in return before he speaks, "Yeah— why?" 

"'Cause we're gonna need it for next time," He says it in the most simple way, like he's having a random catch-up with an old acquaintance. Like he hasn't got his fingers curled around Liam's cock, thumbing over the slit. Like he isn't so bloody turned on that his skin feels like potent fire and the blood in his body feels like petrol.

( All because of Liam. Zayn still remembers the early days, when he was dabbling around the age of fifteen, softening into a state of being sixteen, when he first spotted Liam. New and frightened, sitting in the back of English class with a snapback on and biting at his thumbnail. He'd been in his own little world of innocence, until Zayn had came along and gently eased him out of it with midnight lake visits and robbing a tenner from Harry's wallet on bizarre occasions. )

"You gonna ride me now?" Liam questions as he cups Zayn's cheek, snapping Zayn out of his thoughts. Thank god. "Show yourself off proper f'r me?"

Zayn's eyelashes fan across his cheeks and he thinks Liam looks a lot like a lifeline, feels like redemption. 

"Yeah, Liam, _yeah_."

He crawls off of Liam, dexterous fingers peeling Liam's trousers off in one fluid motion, with Liam's assistance, of course. He cloaks his hand around what is presumably to be the bottle of lube he'd been using, popping open the lid and then spritzing a dollop of the liquid into his palm. 

"Remember that time _you_ gave _me_ a show?" Zayn rushes out, the flashback exploding into his mind. "You drenched the fuckin' sheets, Liam, couldn't get your come out of them for days."

Liam laughs, embarrassment tickling his features. Zayn thinks it's the most ravishing laugh he's ever heard.

"You got yourself worked up for me. Got proper into it, didn't you?" Zayn taunts, coiling his fingers around Liam's cock again.

"Yeah," Liam breathes out, spreading his legs, a skillful hand seizing Zayn's bicep.

"How many times did you come?" Zayn asks as he leisurely tugs the foreskin back, peeking down at Liam's length with novice eyes, but he and Liam both know that he's remote from innocence.

"Four— _five_ , I think, I dunno. Just wanted to stroke off for you that night, make you so fucking _hard_ your head spins," Liam hisses when Zayn flicks his wrist, works the smooth surface of his thumb along the wet head, plum pink, soaked.

"And then you tasted yourself," Zayn grins cheekily, almost like he's proud of his boy for being obedient. Somewhat, anyway.

The only response he receives is a slur of a whimper, and when Liam's head thuds against the headboard, Zayn tightens his fist, works his hand at a steady pace to the harmony of a song in his head that sounds a lot like their love anthem of the century. A spine-chilling anthem only they can hear.

"How'd you taste, babe?" Zayn whispers, dragging his lips across Liam's jawline. "Did you like it?"

"Fuck, Zayn," Liam moans, bucking up into Zayn's fist, into the slow and mellow strokes, getting closer to a whole new world of sheer bliss.

"I wanna know 'cause I love how you taste." Zayn admits, padlocking his lips onto the slope of Liam's neck, peppering untameable kisses over his skin. "And I love how sticky you make me when you come on my face."

Liam's in his paradise. His own little element. The one that no one gets to see but Zayn.

"Tell me, babe, c'mon," Zayn encourages as he leans back a little, the slick sound of the lube squelching between them.

"I— fuck, Zayn, please," Liam begs, his hands venturing over Zayn's ass, blunt nails digging into the fleshiest part. He even ducks a finger into the crack of his arse, bumps just over the brim of his stretched rim.

"Bet you can't wait for me to ride you," Zayn murmurs, warm breath brushing over Liam's ear.

Liam cups the back of Zayn's head, smashes their lips together in a brutal kiss, teeth clinking and beating hearts transmitting back into synchronization, but Liam tongues over Zayn's plump lower lip as a pathetic apology. Zayn gladly accepts, kisses him harder, deeper.

"Think I'm wet enough— don't you, sweetheart?" Liam speaks, gesturing towards his groin. Zayn knows what he's hinting at. He just smirks like the absolute twat he is.

Zayn wraps his fingers around Liam again, swipes his thumb over the wet tip, and lines him up against his hole. He spends a few seconds rubbing the tip of Liam's cock against his entrance, teasingly slow, his free hand lounging on Liam's right shoulder and Liam's fingers the only things providing balance.

"Get on with it, Malik," Liam requests, the ambiance of a wolfish glare gyrating across his honey hues.

All Zayn has to do is take one look at Liam and he's lowering himself down, face contorting into a harsh blend of pain and bliss, oscillating pulse hammering— not quite there, but it's peeking through the comforting sensation of Liam's fingers gripping his hips, holding him in place, fitting them together as he bottoms out.

( He secretly hopes they bruise bright blue, extraordinary red and harsh yellow. Prettier than a sunset, uglier than nightfall. )

It hurts, but the pain elicits miscellaneous elements, emotions Zayn wasn't acknowledged of. Pierces a primeval instinct of wanting to shelter Liam from every malicious word they said that night. It makes him want to cushion him from the fall, tell him everything's okay. That they're okay. The survived, made it through the war.

Call it a minor agitation as his rim gives way, a vicious burn that triangles through his system in a delicious symphony, around and around. Liam's big, incredibly so, but Zayn's already devoted to the flaring fire. He can feel Liam's thighs strain, muscles flexing beneath the cotton of his plaid shirt. He's trying to hinder the hunger, trying to keep his hips pressed to the bed instead of dicking into Zayn with the primordial instinct of safeguarding what belongs to him.

"Good lad," Liam praises with a loose tongue, runs a flat palm down Zayn's chest, his fingers trailing across the sky diving dip of his abs.

"Am I your good boy?" Zayn asks, laying his head on top of Liam's. It's psychotic, the threshold of chemistry between them, galvanic and exhilarating all at once.

"Yeah, baby." Liam pairs the nodding of his head off with the twisting of his lips. "You're always my good boy when you're doin' what you're told, aren't you? Look at you—"

Zayn shushes him with a lingering peck, nails scraping over the junction of his neck. "Keep speakin' like that and I'll be coming 'cause of your words. Not your cock."

Liam echoes out a laugh. "Wouldn't say that's a bad thing."

"It's not." Zayn sighs, craning his head back and offers Liam a gentle roll of his hips, enticing a gasp from his lips from the slight movement. "But I wanna come from your cock. S'been ages, babe. Please—"

"Okay." Liam whispers, kisses the tip of his nose and then settles back against the headboard. "Anything my baby wants, he'll get."

"Right now, I want you," Zayn murmurs, steadies himself a little better, stables his other hand on Liam's left shoulder as he lifts himself upwards, huffing out a strangled breath at the sensation of Liam's length.

"You've always had me, Zayn," Liam admits and Zayn knows there's more to his words than the premise of sex.

When the song remodels into 505 by Arctic Monkeys, Zayn works himself back down on Liam's cock to the rhythm of the tune, the sedated dragging of his rim along Liam's prick cajoling a deep groan from the pit of his throat. 

"Fuck," Liam breathes out when Zayn purposely clenches around his dick.

"Fuck," Zayn agrees, squeezes Liam's shoulders like he's preparing for travelling to an immortal state of heaven. 

( In some way, he _is_ because Liam's cock is like magic. It has the privilege to transport thudding adrenaline through his veins, make his own cock stand tall, proud, _wet_ because Liam's the only one who gets to make him _this_ hard. Liam's the only one who gets to make him this turned on. Liam's the only one who gets to love him like this. )

Just like that, Zayn rides him with determination clinging to every roll of his hips, fucks himself down onto the beautiful boy beneath like he's racing after his last dying breath. It air's humid around him, clashes with his hot skin, filters over the flush tinting his chest that expands when the crown of Liam's prick ghosts over his rim when he slips out on the odd occurrence.

"You're tight," Liam comments, his voice raspy and expert hands skating over Zayn's ass, pulling his cheeks apart.

Liam's always been a smidge more tactile than Zayn when it comes to sex. Not only does he get off on the visual, but he gets off on the sensations, gets off on feeling— on groping, touching Zayn in places Liam didn't have the entitlement of handling at the age of fifteen.

( Well, it's not that Zayn didn't allow him. The bloke was jittery whenever Zayn mentioned the word _sex_ and often, the late night conversations at Niall's house would reshape from the wonders of adulthood to whoever the fittest chick was in his class and what he'd like to do to her. And that left Liam with a raging blush. Possibly a stiffy too, but Zayn still isn't sure because Liam would always do his best to hide his crotch, whether it be with his jacket or a pillow. Looking back on it, Liam _was_ probably hard, probably got off to the thought of Zayn when his parents were sound asleep next door. _Damn_. )

"Only tight for you, Li," Zayn hisses as Liam yanks him back down, snaps his hips upwards when their bodies meet, Zayn's cock smacking audibly wet against his belly. 

"My cock's gettin' you nice and loose though, yeah?" Liam growls, ignoring the sound of lube plunging to the floor.

( Zayn makes a mental note to pick it up after they're done because one time, Liam's phone had dropped from his pants and he'd stood on the mobile device, cursed himself silly before apologising profusely. )

"Mhm— _oh_ ," Zayn whimpers when he shifts his hips at just the _right_ angle, the tip of Liam's cock skims over those little bundle of nerves. His moans are muffled by his teeth gripping onto his lower lip, fucks down a little faster, eager, impatient. 

"That's it, innit?" Liam whispers, careens forward so he can press his lips against Zayn's ear, grind up into him a little easier. "Your sweet spot. Right _here_." 

The surge of delicious pleasure that zests down his spine from the new change in pressure sends Zayn barreling ahead, perked nipples rubbing against Liam's pecs. He's digging his knees into the softness of the mattress, but the chafing of the material against his skin is irritating. He'd be lying if he denied liking it. 

"Yeah— fuck, _Liam_ , right there, babe," Zayn moans, cupping the back of Liam's neck before the man retreats, settling back against the headboard again.

"Y'think you can go a little harder?" Liam asks. His voice is like gravel— rough, luscious, deep with fervent arousal.

Zayn nods frantically and that's when he starts to ride Liam the way he craves. Thighs tensing around his well-built waist, fingers clutching onto the fabric of his shirt, knuckles reworking into a translucent white from how tight he's holding on as he works himself on Liam's cock swiftly. He loves the sensation of his rim stretching, welcoming Liam in with a bit of a clench and then opening up for him again.

"Woah, woah." Liam grasps his hips tighter, sending him a warning glare. "Chill out, gorgeous. I said  _harder_ , not faster."

Zayn hums in acknowledgement and alters the pace to slow, tranquil, adores the mellow feeling of his hole expanding, resistance a thing of the past. 

"Missed this," Liam murmurs.

"Missed you," Zayn murmurs back, lips splitting into a smile.

They fuck in a lazy daze of moans and groans lacing together. It's a slow, cautious pace with whimpers and whines exuding from their mouths that then lock in a kiss so zealous, it makes their minds twirl with silent apologies, undeclared promises. It's _Liam_ smacking a hand over Zayn's bum, tugging his cheeks apart whilst Zayn grinds down onto his cock hungrily and spurts out sticky precome that smears across Liam's abdomen. It's Zayn, sinking down on Liam's cock as the mattress shakes and the headboard bangs against the wall. It's _them_. It's the way they liked it from the beginning of time— when Liam had first wrapped his lips around Zayn's length and Zayn had rocked into his mouth, glided his index across Liam's cheek with dark eyes peering down at innocent ones. It'd been slow and calming.

They fuck in a fevered wave of Zayn trying to shuffle closer to Liam, trying to touch every inch of him before he gives up and Liam slumps against the headboard, Zayn's hand slamming loudly on the wall, right next to his head. And then it's the tumultuous sound of Zayn's ass slapping against Liam's thighs as they fuck filthily, raw, Liam's nails scraping at his back and Zayn's fingers curling against the paint. It's the wayward groans that stagger from Liam's lips that influences the motions of Zayn's hips snapping down, up down, up down and Liam helps. He dicks into him, fucks him like it's a team effort. 

( They make a splendid team, if you ask Zayn. )

"Shit," Zayn groans, eyes fluttering shut.

"Baby." Liam coos. "Look at me, man. C'mon, Zayn. Y'need to look at me. Stay with me, babe."

Zayn does. He looks at Liam, blinking a few times and Liam rewards him with a particularly hard thrust that has Zayn screaming, back in the game, until Liam slips out and—

"No, no, if you don't get back in me, I'll—" The words are killed in his throat when Liam lines himself back up, pushes in and instead of highway signs of protest skirting over Zayn's features, they twist into pleasure, head tipping back and Liam's lips on his neck in seconds.

( Liam smells like arousal and nicotine from the fag he finished earlier. The scent is enough to make Zayn's insides loop, the blood rushing straight to his cock. )

They don't fuck long after that because Liam's fucking up into him so, _so_ good, constantly making sure he slams his prick right over his sweet spot and he even goes as far as dipping his index finger into the remnant of Zayn's precome dribbling down his stomach, pushes his finger against Zayn's lips and Zayn sucks like the good boy he is, moans around his finger.  

"Liam, fuck— fuck me,  _shit_ ," Zayn groans, his energetic hips swaying to the beat of the song he doesn't even know the name of because the Arctic Monkeys ended minutes ago.

"You gonna come f'r me, baby?" Liam asks through pressing damp kisses along the bridge of his neck, leans forward that little bit more so Zayn can grind against his stomach. "Shoot off on my stomach? Make a mess like a good boy you are?"

"Yes." Zayn barks out, his fingers pinning themselves to Liam's shoulders once again, squeezing impossibly tight around the curve of them, rolling his hips down, forward, in small speedy circles. "Yes— Liam. Yes, yes, _yes_."

Zayn spasms as he comes with Liam's name streaming from the tip of his tongue, spills between their bodies as Liam continues to pound into him, relentless, unforgiving thrust of his hips until Zayn feels him tense beneath him, thighs raising as he tumbles into the blissful door of his own release, spilling inside of Zayn with his tongue licking menacingly over Zayn's neck, eyes braced shut. 

"Shit— Li." Zayn chuckles, arousal still tinkering around in his tone, even when Liam carefully pulls out. "Haven't been fucked that hard since that time you fucked me over the dining table at your mum's house."

Liam snorts, doesn't open his eyes. "That was one hell of a night, wasn't it?"

A grin dances across Zayn's lips, a blissed out expression tugging at his features. "Yeah, it was."

"You said you'd love me forever," Liam suddenly whispers, but his voice is crystal clear. It sends a chilling, swirling chemical in Zayn's stomach, something that mimics guilt and regret and sorrow.

( He should never have walked away. He should've chased what made his heart beat, what made his stomach flip. )

"You never stop loving what makes you, _you_ , Liam," Zayn recites, his voice soft, drowsy.

"Remember when I told you to come back when you can?" Liam wonders, his fingers drifting along Zayn's neck. 

"Yeah, man. I do." Zayn nods, veering into the touch of Liam's comforting fingers. "I came back, Li, I came back for you, as daft as it sounds."

"I'm glad you did."

 

But then, something happens. Liam's no longer his favourite kind of high because he beings to fade and everything around them turns to dust and Zayn's panicking, hyperventilating and—

 

Perspiration stifles along his bare skin, his heart battering beats against the cage of his ribs to a non-existent drum playing in the distance. When his eyes whiz open, he's greeted with the ceiling above, burgundy blankets crumpled at the end of the bed and anxiety rivers through his limbs, like venom in his veins.

( Liam's the remedy. )

Outside, moonlight punctures where the darkness attempts to seep in. There's a faint roaring of an engine and a faraway snarling of incoherent words, much like the visions in his head, dissolving vividness as time passes. 

Zayn tries to shift away from it, twisting onto his side where Liam would normally take up the vacant space, leg hitched around his lower half, arm hooked around his torso. Protective, safe, fireproof.

It was just a dream. A meaningless, fucked up dream that felt like knives to the heart. A bullet to the soul. 

His legs shamble beneath the duvet, but the material doesn't feel so comforting anymore. He perches himself up on his elbow, brain thumping harshly against his skull. The streetlight outside of his bungalow decorates the room in golden shadows, making him wince.

( He hasn't seen much light since Liam left. Because Liam was his source of sunlight and Zayn soaked him up, every single day. )

He unwinds himself from the disarray of blankets, disregarding the ache in his heart and the leftover sting of whisky in the back of his throat and swings his feet around to the soft navy carpeting, toes digging into the woolly strands as he stands.

He reaches up, fingers grazing over where the temporary tattoo had been and blearily wishes his feelings, his emotions, were just as short-lived.

He doesn't know why he does it. He doesn't know why he grabs the half-smoked blunt, igniting the joint with one of his many lighters and treks towards the room him and Liam labelled as The Love Shack ( they even painted the name of the room in big black bold letters on the wall ), phone in hand.

By the time he settles down on the beanbag in the corner of the room, Zayn's already pressed Liam's name on the screen of the device, placing the phone to his ear and of course, _of fucking course_ , it goes straight to voicemail.

"Hey, what's up?" Zayn mumbles shakily into the speaker after he hears the beep, taking a quick drag of the joint to calm his nerves. It doesn't work. "It's been a while, yeah?"

"Just thought I'd see what's up." He admits seconds later, exhales the smoke and watches as it evaporates. "I'm lightin' up. Bit cold-hearted, innit? How I'm callin' you and you're probably sleeping."

It's then that he realises that he can love Liam more than anything in the world, but loving someone can never beat the pain of missing them when they're gone.

But maybe. Maybe it'll bring him back. One day.

"I got onto that uni course in London— y'know, the one I mentioned a while back after you sprayed me with redbull 'cause you'd had one too many cans at Harry's," Zayn whispers into the phone, wishing he could hear Liam's voice. He knows Liam would be proud.

"I was proper nervous applyin' for it, like. Chickened out about eight times," Zayn laughs at himself, staring at the blunt between his fingers, watching as the smoke floats from it.

"But then I thought of you." Zayn breathes, voice quivering. "Thought about your face, your lips and your eyes. Thought about your amazing personality. Thought about your hands— your body, too. Guess you could say I got a little inspired. Yet, I thought about every little centimeter of you and I still feel empty."

"Why do I feel empty, Liam?" Zayn questions like the inquiry's going to be answered with the familiar voice and alluring charm. "Is it because you aren't here? Is it because I'm reminded of you, every fuckin' day, from the minute I open my eyes?"

"Tell me, Liam, 'cause I really wanna know," Zayn doesn't know when it happens, but the tears pour from his eyes, roll down his cheeks. 

"You aren't gonna tell me though, are you?" Zayn shakes his head, rests the joint in the ashtray because he doesn't feel like getting high. Not anymore. It doesn't numb him, doesn't paralyze his emotions the way Gin does. "'Cause you haven't picked up."

_He's never going to pick up._

"Maybe I keep calling you 'cause there's a small part of me that thinks — _hopes_ — you'll pick up." Zayn wipes away his tears with a trembling hand. He may or may not pretend that it's Liam's hand instead. "Maybe I keep calling you 'cause I hope I'll hear your voice again one day."

Zayn pauses, plays with a slack thread on his sweats, wishing he could feel Liam's lips against his skin.

( Liam's always been the one that held the gun, but Zayn had pulled the trigger. And now, he's attempting to clean up the mess he made with voicemails, drunken text messages, and a broken heart filled with Liam, Liam, Liam. )

" _Will I ever hear your voice again, Liam?_ "

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://zzenturies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
